


Little Escapes

by Tish



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Escapes, Gen, Innuendo, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 23:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17693603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: Little moments in the life of two spy husbands.





	Little Escapes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nemirovitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemirovitch/gifts).



A gentle breeze played with some wildflowers before continuing on to tousle the top of Illya's hair. The sunshine bathed his blond hair in a warm, golden glow as Napoleon plucked one of the flowers and inhaled its scent, then slid it behind his ear as he knelt down beside his friend.

Napoleon couldn't help smiling as he reached over to play with the long strand of hair that curled up near the back of Illya's neck, revealing the darker section beneath it. His fingers followed the curl, slowly stroking it, sliding under to feel the smooth, shorter section below, and the soft skin of the back of the neck.

Illya moaned, his brow furrowed as he woke in pain. He slurred something and opened his eyes. “Ugh? There was a-,” he winced, one hand reaching behind his neck.

“A THRUShie, yes. He bopped you, so I bopped him,” Napoleon nodded to a nearby bridge. “He went for a little fly and a swim.”

Illya leaned back into Napoleon's hand, thinking about diving fully clothed into the water himself. “Thank you, I owe you one. That feels good.”

“Any time you want to rub my head in return, feel free,” Napoleon grinned.

It could have been the disorientation, but Napoleon thought he noticed Illya's gaze flick down before returning to Napoleon's face, the question of _which_ head left lingering and unsaid.

/o\

Caught again! Illya moaned as he was shoved against a wall.  
  
Illya winced as he struggled back to conciousness and recognised the woman's voice. "Mrs Partridge, please give yourself up, it's no use. Besides, this is the third time this year."  
  
"Mr. Kuryakin, I aways miss your lovely face, and your delightful voice when we're apart," Edith Patrdige said as she draped her hands over his body. "We should make this a regular date, catch up with what's been happening with each other's lives and worlds." She gave the chains a little tug. "Nice and secure!"  
  
"Madam, please understand I have no desire to be chained up against a dingy dungeon wall like this every time we encounter one another. You need to be brought to justice," Illya said wearily, for what must have been the fifteenth time.  
  
"But I'm such a lonely woman. With Emory off who knows where, I'm so berefit of company," Edith protested sadly.  
  
"Yes, I understand. But, there's a place for you. You'll have all the company you need with plenty of nefarious ladies like yourself to converse with," Illya replied patiently.  
  
"I do not care to converse with common criminals in a prison, Mr. Kuryakin!" In a huff, Edith pulled the chains tighter.  
  
Illya winced as the chains pulled his arms up higher, "Madam, please!"  
  
"I am sorry, Illya. All I want is a sweet young man such as yourself to talk with, and dance with, and share glorious moments with. I don't think any of those ladies in prison would be anything like you," Edith said mournfully. "I don't even think any of them would be a decent maidservant or ladies' companion. Besides, the uniforms are so drab! Oh! Speaking of uniforms, I had a beautiful red and black one made especially for you. It's just over there. Let me fetch it!"  
  
"Mrs Partidge, I shall not be wearing a uniform," Illya paused as he saw the spark in Edith's eye. "Nor naked either. I shall remain in my own clothes. My colleague will be here at any moment. He will free me and we shall take you into custody."  
  
"Oh dear, what a bother, I haven't got a uniform for Mr. Solo. I hope he doesn't mind too much and isn't jealous of you," Edith fretted a little, her hands clasping each other as she spoke.  
  
"No, he'll understand. Now, could you please unchain me?" Illya asked as gently as he could stand.  
  
Edith gripped the key in her hands. "Perhaps we could strike a bargain, Mr. Kuryakin? I'll be willing to unchain you if you at least try on the uniform."  
  
Illya stared at her. "I...." He shut his mouth and sighed, trying to save his blood pressure. "Very well."  
  
Edith squealed with joy as she unlocked the chains. "I know you are a man of your word, and won't escape." She hurried over to get the uniform, holding it out proudly as Illya shook his arms loose.  
  
"You will turn your back, madam?" Illya asked shyly.  
  
"And have you escape, even if you are a man of your word? I don't think so," Edith said gaily.  
  
"You are a very demanding woman, Mrs Partidge. Could you at least put some music on for us, please?" Illya gingerly took the uniform from her.  
  
"Excellent idea," Edith trilled as she trotted over to the gramophone. "I love winding this up. One or two good yanks of the handle and we can dance the night away."  
  
The dungeon door clanged shut and Illya's voice came from the other side as he locked it. "Forgive me for breaking my promise, Mrs Partidge, my dance card only has Mr. Solo's name on it." 

/o\ 

Napoleon woke with a start, grumbling as he felt the sharp poke in his side. He opened his eyes to find Illya sprawled over him, and the unyielding grip of steel around his wrists. “Well, this is cosy,” he mused.

“Napoleon, really,” Illya huffed, trying to move an arm from under him.

“Okay, so my right hand is cuffed to your-?” Napoleon shifted an arm slightly, trying to work out the spaghetti loops of their binds.

“ _My_ right hand, yes. There's not enough chain between the cuffs,” Illya muttered as he was pulled closer to Napoleon's chest. “Let me try this.”

“Ooof, no wait,” Napoleon groaned.

“Okay. Ouch, no.”

“We're in a pickle, Illya.”

“No, if I just do this. Ah, this is very hard.”

Napoleon stared at Illya's crotch. “I can see that. Well, as long as I'm down there.”

"Napoleon!"

/o\

Napoleon was the first to waken, shaking his head as he was dragged along the floor and shoved up against a wall. He was too groggy to really put up much resistance and was distracted by Illya's groan as he opened his eyes.

Edith Partridge clapped her hands with glee as she stood before her captives. “It's been so long since I've had gentleman callers, and now two at once! Oh, the heady days of the Amazon and those splendid young guards in their uniforms, I miss them so.”

Napoleon glanced at Illya, catching the _I am so done look_ upon his face, and tugged slightly at the chains holding him against the wall.

“I don't suppose you dear young men have ever worn a uniform? But of course, you would have served in the military! Silly me. My goodness, I'd even love to see you in a bellboy uniform,” Edith prattled on. “We could play the hotel guest and the concierge and dance the rumba in my room.”

Lost in her fantasies. Edith swayed to the music of an invisible band, oblivious to the escaping U.N.C.L.E. agents.


End file.
